My All to Hell
by Pretenders
Summary: With the death of her counterpart, Buttercup finally realizes who her true enemy was all along once she rids herself of her hatred and jealousy. Death. Independent plot. No romance.


**_Thank-you for noticing this story._**

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**My All to Hell**

The pavement was rough, brittle, almost sharp, and without another view of his dark green streak, she knew there was nothing more than elimination of fear—for Townsville. There was no fear toward him harbored within her. His impact lifted a cloud of debris and smoke that hid him well from the height she floated at above him. At first, the tears were caused by injuries, such as painful bruises he left on her shoulders, and back. She stared below, hoping the smoke would clear out soon. She didn't dare fly down to witness his state for herself. She knew there was nothing more than a crowd around his figure, cheering, for she could hear their celebration from the height she looked down from. Her bruises still hurt, and her heart beat within her ears. The feeling of determination to prove herself she felt every time she came face to face with him was slowly dying out. Bruises took time to heal, then they'd disappear, as if nothing happened. There was no true memory to keep of this moment, and she hoped just that. Her mind, occupied by her conscious telling her to land to greet the people she kept safe, was ignored by the sound of her heart beat. He was a creation just as she, but this encounter ended her relationship with him—a relationship of enemies who wished each other dead. Her amount of temper, and impatience to deal out damage, now escaped itself from her to create a new image of someone she called her enemy.

Now, she realized just how hypocritical she'd been. She never felt insecure, her confidence soaring above both her sisters, yet no one saw how powerful she could be. Falling to her knees as if ground lay below her, she slapped her hands to her face, filling them with wet, burning tears. If they were so similar, then there must have been another side to him than what stood before her. Her own face, her own aura collected itself in the image before her. She had never been confronted with an overwhelming feeling of tragedy, and if this was her way of comforting herself, then she'd succumb to what was already too late to realize. Below her, she knew there was nothing more than a body; in front of her, she knew there was nothing more than a clear, night sky.

"Pick yourself up, you've done the right thing."

Yet, that image spoke to her. It spoke calmly, as if no temper covered it. It's touch on her shoulder was warm and inviting. This wasn't his ghost, yet she wanted to believe it wasn't herself, neither. Her sobs surrounded her, and the slow beat of her heart made her feel cold. That was how she would look at him; a glare of cold, and loath. She now felt just that. She felt cold, and she loathed herself. He was a clone of herself, complete with uncontrollable fever and abusive behavior. He demonstrated that to an all new high when she first met him. He made her step up her game, and at the same time, he made her feel worth something to the Professor. Before, his praise had always been aimed to Blossom, then he praised her for her skill when he saw her clear potential against the Rowdyruff Boy. She felt needed within Townsville, while he remained a young boy hated by everyone. She hated him the most; she hated his voice, his looks, and his character. However, if she had looked deeper, she would have seen herself within his character. They both shared a temper, and if she stopped herself from trying her best to prove herself greater than Blossom, she would have seen the gentle character he possessed, just as she did, behind the mask of fever.

Yet, she didn't know when to stop. There was no reason to try to, not until she reached the level of praise Blossom recieved. He had merely stood before her in the air, seeming to want to create peace. It was too late to create peace. She attacked him without another step, handing him all her hatred within one hit. There was no fear, but peerless loath. A murderous loath that consumed her enough to commit to permanent elimination of her counterpart, Butch, in hopes of demonstrating her true potential.

"There is no reason to cry. He's finally gone. Blossom couldn't defeat Brick, even if she tried."

At first, the tears were caused by the injuries he left on her delicate body. Then, the tears were caused by the realization that he, too, wanted to prove himself better than the fever and abusive character he harbored. The image before was nothing more than what she wished to eliminate for so long: the hatred, for she was her only enemy.

"Pick yourself up."

The invisible ground beneath her broke a part, leaving her incapable of picking herself up. She didn't attempt to, neither. It wasn't too late for peace.

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**_Thank-you for reading. This story is inspired by, "My All" by Mariah Carey._**


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